


A Moment's Grace

by roromir



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Gen, M/M, Mentions of Anxiety
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-10
Updated: 2017-05-10
Packaged: 2018-10-30 03:44:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10868385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roromir/pseuds/roromir
Summary: Jack loves taking photographs, but finds it especially helpful when he’s anxious.A ficlet about how Jack copes when Bitty is back at Samwell, featuring facts about sandhill cranes.S/o to love of my life and beta Katie.Find me at roromir on tumblr.





	A Moment's Grace

Jack loves taking photographs, but finds it especially helpful when he’s anxious. A lot of the motions he executes to make sure the photo doesn’t come out blurry are similar to actions that can be used to calm the thoughts that crowd his brain and his heartbeat fluttering in his chest.  
Check ISO and shutter speed. Focus lens on subject; don’t forget rule of thirds. Elbows in. Inhale. Hold. Push the shutter and exhale slowly.  
Jack slipped away from his apartment in the chilly pre-dawn to take his morning run. Bitty is back at Samwell, and Jack finds to his consternation that he is starting to have trouble sleeping without the other man’s soft breath in his ear at night. He tosses and turns without the weight of Bitty’s leg draped over him. He is vexed to discover an ache in the absence of the gentle rise and fall of Eric’s chest as he sleeps.  
And a lack of sleep has always been one of Jack’s anxiety triggers. He finds it’s much easier for doubt and negativity to worm into his thoughts when he’s not well-rested.  
In defiance of his muddled thoughts, he runs one of his favorite routes, a rectangular park that’s about 3 kilometers square – the park has become one of his go-tos because it holds a trail circling a pond packed with diverse waterfowl. He’s got a small DSLR camera tucked into a zippered pocket, just in case he sees something interesting.  
Mud and icy water are seeping into Jack’s running shoes as he tiptoes into the shallows of the pond. He has spotted a pair of sandhill cranes on a tiny peninsula in the center of the pond, and he suspects the gorgeous grey-brown birds are protecting their eggs.  
He’s lived in Providence long enough to learn a bit about the flora and fauna, and slowly he’s become fascinated with sandhill cranes. The adults, with their long, slender forms and red masks, exude power and elegance when they take flight. Meanwhile, the babies - known as colts, for some reason - are adorable ochre fluff balls with comically long legs.  
Camera strap secure around his neck, Jack uses his foot to gently nudge a couple of cattails to the side. He slips through the tall plants, which rustle with his movements, and the bigger crane pins him with her gaze.  
Jack freezes.  
“Salut, maman,” he murmurs. “Tout va bien.”  
He stands motionless in the shallows for what feels like an eternity, his toes pickling in his sodden socks. He breathes carefully, slowly in through his nose and out through his mouth, feeling his spine relax and his heartbeat settle. The mated couple call back and forth to each other a few times, their high-pitched chittering reminding Jack of the velociraptors from dinosaur movies. At long last, the mother bird returns her attention to the nest, poking with her long, thin beak at twigs and grass interwoven beneath her.  
Jack raises his little camera to his face with smooth, unhurried motions, sliding the power button into the ‘on’ position. The crane pays no attention to the sounds of the shutter as the golden rays of the sunrise shimmer off the water and the bird’s grey feathers.  
Satisfied, and feeling more at peace with his own mind than he had the entire restless night, Jack carefully backtracks through the marshy edges of the pond. The cranes eye him but remain in place, and Jack resists the urge to nod at them respectfully.  
His running shoes and socks squelch with the mud-laden pond water for a good half mile before shedding enough droplets to make the rest of his run tolerable. He toes the dampened shoes off at his doorstep and heads straight for the shower to rinse off his cooling sweat and muddy ankles.  
As he towels dry his dripping hair and slips into warm clothes, Jack feels a little thrill of anticipation. He wonders if the pictures he took will reflect the feelings of peaceful patience he experienced watching the pair of elegant cranes await their hatchlings. He slides the camera’s tiny memory card into its reader and pulls up the photos on his computer. Though some of the photos are blurry from his own movements, or too dark, he’s pleased with one in particular. The mother crane’s slender neck curves gracefully as she arranges the nest around her eggs. The water and the crane’s feathers are gilded with the dawn sunlight.  
Jack sends the photo to his own phone so he can text it to Bitty. The soft, warm glow diffused throughout the image reminds him of nothing so much as the expanse of his partner’s skin as he dozes.  
His lips quirk as he reflects on just how gone he is for the southerner. He sends the photo to the man with the caption, “good things come to those who wait,” and decides to take a nap to make up for his restless night.  
As he slips between the blankets, Eric texts him back, praising his skill behind the camera.  
A few moments later, he seems to have read between the lines a bit.  
“Good things come to those who run across the campus like a fool, too,” he writes. Jack smiles and sends back, “I never said I was especially patient.” He snuggles into his blankets, for the moment feeling calm and loved.


End file.
